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PS 3525 

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1908 



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MORRIS 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, 



V 



LYRICS AND 
LANDSCAPES 



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A DUET IN LYRICS- 

WITH JOHN ARTHUR HENRY. 

MADONNA AND OTHER POEMS. 
TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. 
TALES FROM TEN POETS. 
IN THE YULE-LOG GLOW. 



LYRICS AND 
LANDSCAPES 



BY 



HARRISON S. MORRIS 




NEW YORK 

THE CENTURY CO. 

1908 



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AhK 14 11908 






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Copyright, 1908, by 
The Century Co. 

Published, April, 1908 



THE DE VINNE PRESS 



TO 

ANNA 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Ad Matrem 19 

After an Idle Night or Two 136 

All One 110 

Always 99 

An Inland Eclogue 67 

An Opossum 26 

A Sea Litany 12 

At Sunset 39 

A Wood Tryst 79 

Ballad of the Chimes 31 

Beach Peas 76 

Between Tides 126 

Chatelaine 107 

Compline 133 

Covetise 35 

Destiny 116 



Contents viii 



PAGE 



Duality 51 

Exile 131 

Forest Fires in June 52 

If It Could Be 137 

Impromptu in May 109 

Incarnation 62 

Joseph Wharton 114 

June 97 

Lost 55 

May 129 

Midsummer Noon 28 

Moon Folk 108 

Night 3 

On an Etruscan Vase 113 

Poet and Potentate . 90 

Pursuit 103 

Rebuke 36 

Renaissance 127 

Requiem 65 

Revelation 113 

Singing Wood 134 



ix Contentfif 



PAGE 



Spain 138 

Stars 18 

Sudden Sun 60 

Sunrise in Song 88 

To a Flag Flower in an Almanac 10 

The Gilded Gate 125 

The Immigrants 57 

The Rain-Drop Prelude 132 

The Subject Race 135 

The Three Kings 41 

The Wind's Dalliance 128 

Upon Reading an Appreciation of Aldrich . . .139 

Verselets Ill 

Vespers 101 

Vespers 130 

Walt Whitman 140 

Winter Twilight 105 



® LYRICS AND LANDSCAPES ® 



NIGHT 



COOL dome of leaves, close in— 
Make earlier night below the woven boughs; 
Bring stealthy footsteps, to my woodland house 
Of dancers dark and thin. 
For out where yet the white light of the West 
Sends streamers backward o'er the narrowed world, 
Night lies unmanifest. 
In sable ambush curled, 
Eager for one lone star, then out to leap and tread 

Dusk frolic on the dewy green, 
With balanced body and with frantic head. 



!l^ric0 mt> !lani30capefif 



I know thee, Night; thy minions, beetle-black, 
Who has not met upon a pacing way 

When dusk dips into day? 
Soft shades that vanish at a reached touch, 
That leap the rails and leap the rills. 
With endless bicker up the hills, 
Yet sink to air within a timid clutch. 
Now, only here about my woodland house, 

Where light begins to lack 
For closeness of the intergrowing boughs, 

Here only do they pack. 
Leashed by the hand that hardly holds them back. 

Ill 

What whispers, what alarums, what debate; 
What 'tempted tiptoe on the margin green ! 



Mark how they flutter to the folded gate 
That lies the wood between 

And that low region where the sun is late. 

Mark how they bend, as when the breeze 
Walks in the barley to his knees; 
And lo ! who nimbly springs, 
With widened sable wings, 

Out to the sod, and leads the way 

With many a frolic fit of play 

Down all the valleys to the heels of day. 

IV 

And lo ! thy music, blown on quiet reeds 
Amid the little rivers, where thy feet 

Wade first, when Even leads. 
With shaded torch, thy legionaries fleet. 

Hearken unto the rhythmic beat. 



Down by the pebbles in some sedgy seat, 

Of atomies that blow — 
With fingers playing swift and sweet — 
The lyrics of the vanished after-glow, 

The music that no mortal may repeat, 

Of grasses as they grow, 
And moon-buds, and the swelling wheat. 
And scent turned into sound by witcheries they 
know! 



Lean, with thy darkened coronet of stars 
Where hang the greatening fruits 
In summer's languid breeze, 
And, thro' the black-enwoven orchard trees, 
Listen! Vibrations, whimpers, sorceries; 



il^rto anu ilantJ0cape0 

The muffled roll of elfin cars 
Across enchanted turf; the glees 
Of wood-imps at their mimicries, 
And voices of old Dorian deities 
In many-cadenced keys ! 



VI 



These are thy drowsy vespers, flung 

From shadowy viols and visionary flutes 
That to the touch of musing mutes, 
Give forth the fragrant sorceries 
Of apple-bending shoots, 
And winey clusters in the mid-bough hung. 
These are thy fingerers of unseen salutes 
Who touch illusive lutes— 



Seated olden oaks among, 
And in the beechen roots- 
Like marble players on a carven frieze 
With marble songs unsung. 



VII 

And from the clay-cool caverns; hark—below! 

The Earth is drunken with the summer night. 
The pulses of winged dwellers come and go 

That have not any might 
Save music; and no other being know;— 
The frog, the beetle, and the buzzing mite ; 

The cricket with his tiny tremolo ; 
Twitter of dreaming birds that wait the glow 

Of dewy morning in her meadows white. 
Then —down the peopled mystery, a pause,— 



C^ricfif ant) ILanDsfcapefl? 

And now, an owlet with the cry of Cain, 
In notes of dripping pain, 
An agony in vain — 
And all the wood in sweetest tune again. 

VIII 

Then, here below leaf-thicknesses to be, 
O Night, alone with thee ; 

To ponder on thy olden birth 

That was before the curve of verdurous Earth 

Rose, moon-like, through the azure mystery; 
O Night, to hear thy venerable speech 

Sweep like a sea upon a sandy girth- 
Makes quiet in the troubled heart of man, 
Where Day, too long a span. 

Lingers with weary aim to banish thee 

And that old human right of blest tranquillity. 



TO A FLAG FLOWER IN AN 
ALMANAC 

I PLUCKED you from your quiet glow 
Of purple glory in the green, 
And I forgot you loved the low, 

Sweet moisture where the dock leaves lean. 

Forgot it was your home, that you 
Were born to bring a beauty there, 

That Dawn would miss you, and the dew, 
And Night, and every wandering air. 

Forgot your priestly rite to hold 
A censered offering to the sun 



II il^ricsf anu tlanti^capes? 

Who, bending, burns the marsh to gold 
Because of service you have done. 

I plucked you, killed you, laid you here 
Between the pages stained with trade 

Nor heeded, with the fading year, 
Your tender ashes fail and fade. 

Yet, when on some mute night of snow 
The pages open where you 've lain, 

The marsh will level wide, I know, 
And spring and you be young again. 



A SEA LITANY 



THOU unto whose forgetful deeps are poured 
Tears that have trembled at the eye of mirth 
And laughter that a little while is lord, 

Life-giver, many-shored, 
Who frolic with the tolerated earth 
And toss, or take back from her a heavy hoard; 
Thou unto whom Love is a waftage spent 
And Beauty but the foam upon thy face, 

Grant thou my cry a grace, 
Make answer with thy many noises blent 

Into one briny word ! 



13 !l^ric0 anu tlantisfcapesf 



Unto mine ignorance speak, O august Sea, 
Keeper of mysteries that lie writ in foam— 

A runic mockery 
Of wisdom, that may read the symboled dome 

But pierces not to thee ! 
Behold, I kneel in fealty at thy marge, 
Vouchsafe, in accents as thy limits, large. 

Yet tempered to my timid sense, 

Some simple, saving evidence 
Of human heritage in immortality. 

Ill 

For clouding up, as incense unto vaults 
Hoary with worship, floats the faith of man 
To azure answerless ; 



il^ric0 antj llanJ)s?cape0 h 

And, as the April warbler builds her nest 
Even of the down from her own ardent breast, 
So from virtues, fancies, faults, 
Power that for a day exalts, 
Hope that seems almost to span 
The abysses of God's pathless plan- 
So from deeps the anxious spirit delves, 

And from shadows of ourselves, 
We weave a refuge for our nothingness. 

IV 

For what are we 
That Nature should annul her law, 

Whose every stately tree 
Lives closer unto old sincerity? 
We bear and build and buy 

And then we die : 



15 IL^rits? ant) iLanti0cape0 

The day revolves and earth is cool with night, 
The morrow glances but a moment back, 
April is busy in his garden plot, 

And ere the year is white 
Our image and our message are forgot. 



Better, O Sea, thy sullen resonance 
Heaving along innumerable coasts, 
Than organ-anthems of the suppliant hosts 
Dim-kneeling in the litanies of chance. 
Wherein the loose-tongue boasts : 
I have the truth within 
Bend thou beneath the rod 
Or be cast out from God— 



tl^rics; anu ilanUfi^capesf i6 

I have the truth within 
And I am free from sin, 
But thou cast out shalt be 
Eternally. 

VI 

O elemental Sea, is this the speech 

Thy salt lips hollo to the windy night 

When long, deliberate billows break in white 

On every boiling beach? 
Is this the burden of thy brooding years— 

That life is still so sweet, 
'T were fain repeat 
Its loss in gain, its tyranny, its tears- 
Fain that in pious rivalry we compete 
For precedence in some divine retreat, 
With luckless peers? 



17 tl^tic^ anU ilantisfcapesf 

VII 

Ah, nobler, if without appeal, O Sea 
Unprivileged, unsolaced by a fee 

The soul emerged to thee ! 
For sunken to thy sea-green solitudes 
Forever heaving to thy tameless moods, 

A wave, a breath, to be: 
O Salty Mother, thus the spirit broods 

Of immortality. 



STARS 

SHIPS of the air that haunt 
The hidden bays of heaven ! 
Do ye then anchor by day 
In the arms of an azure bay, 
And when on earth it is even 
Your lamps at the mast-head swing 
For men to say : It is seven ; 
They are furling sail in heaven, 
It is time we folded wing? 



AD MATREM 

OBIIT FEB. 23, 1895 



FAR in the open night of time 
She lies who yesterday was warm as life, 
Who sat, a simple presence, seemly wife, 
Happy, within the guardian walls of home ; 
Who questioned not the azure dome 
But called it heaven, nor knew of other clime 
Save hers that spread no further than the chime 
Of bells incoming from the distant day. 
Now, mingled with the all-revolving clay. 



Il^rics? anD §Lant)0cape0 20 

She is a part of that wide mystery 
Which sovereign stars obey 
And the eternal sea. 



Here was her seat, her couch beside the hearth 
That held her daylong thro' the dozing hours, 
And here the windows with the winter flowers 
That drew their beauty from a span of earth— 
Ah, too like her, who travelled not 
Forth from the one devoted spot, 
They brought a radiance of the light and air 
Into the steadfast chamber there— 

Nor ever asked she for a happier lot 
Who stirred not ever from her homestead chair. 



21 ll^ricsf anti Mntis;tnpt& 

III 

But, to her side, as to a pool for thirst, 

The troubled came, the harried, and the hurt. 

She knew— oh well, too well! the wounded soul 

And how to soften sorrow that it burst 

In tears and left the senses sweet and whole. 

For in her tender eyes, 
Springs of the deeper lore where pity lies — 
That unlearned wisdom of the open heart — 
Unto each aching tale would rise 
Clear deeps of kindness like the loving sky's. 

IV 

She was a soul like nature's that can take 
Our sorrows in its hand, and heal a grief 
Yet show no atom less of blowing leaf 
Nor sunny frolic in the happy grass. 



H^titsf anti ilanl>s^cape0 22 

She gave, nor ever asked a boon— 
Gave of her spirit, gave her homely heart; 
But ever kept her deeper pangs apart 
Lest, hearing these, the suppliant grow mute 

At burdens broader than his own 
And, in her anguish, lose confession's fruit. 



And yet not other than a woman, she: 
Frail, unheroic, laughter-loving, true ; 
Nor held it worth a morrow's thought to do 
Deeds that build deep a people's unity. 
For not alone in civic ardor lies 
The might of cities, but in human eyes: 
In quiet moods that cool like evening dew, 
In love, and low replies. 



23 tl^ricfif anti i.anD0cape0 

VI 

Such was her daily round, till, like a lamp 
That blinks abroad at twilight, here she lay 
Amid the gathering of the endless gloom. 

Then, craving not a longer day,— 

Though loving well the neighbor tramp 
Of steady toil below her darkened room, 
And well the sunlight or the silver gray 
Of hill and stream, and lengths of rushy damp, 

And every grass-green way- 
Yea, loving these, that made her wise 

In nature's shy humanities. 
She slept and eddied outward to the tomb. 

VII 

And, as a hand benign that takes, but gives 
A guerdon greater, so has death bequeathed 



J.^ncsf anti flantisfcapetf 24 

New senses that make new the solid world. 

For with her fled the follies wreathed 

And all the silks of mirth were furled: 
But in each alley of the green earth lives 

A presence which has breathed 
Airs that make strange the leaf before them twirled 
And turn the thatch-birds forth as fugitives; 

That hold aloof the accustomed hill 
And touch, as moonlight touches, roof and rill, 
And stir the ashes wherein time is sheathed. 



VIII 

And what was friendly at the threshold, draws 
Distant in elemental loneliness; 
And paths where I have idled, heeding not, 
In visionary moments bless 



25 ll^rics? antj ilannflfcapesf 

These brooding eyes, that hover up in thought, 
With stately passage of dim-moving laws. 

IX 

O, Day that took her, Day that like a cloud 
Lurked in the under reaches of the years 
With menace to her being— be to me 

A mentor to make clear the steps of time; 
Show in the sullen light that sweeps from thee 
Across the valleys where we creep and climb 
The good that greatens with adversity 
The tender trust that follows after tears. 



AN OPOSSUM 

I SAW you from the dull repose 
Of common things emerge : 
The trees beside the brook arose, 
The hill sloped to its verge. 

My thought was of the trivial hour; 

I felt the feathery snow 
Athwart me, like a frozen flower, 

Into the whiteness go ; 

And then, without a warning breath, 
You ambled through the flakes— 



27 JL^rtcs? anu ilantntfcapetf 

It was as if the doors of death 
Had parted for our sakes, 

And up from some untrodden sphere 
That lay anigh to mine 

You came, and I was very near 
To know a law divine. 



MIDSUMMER NOON 

A HUSH of summer holds the silent air, 
The hills are drowsy with the simmering heat. 
No happy birds wing down the open glare, 
Nor wake the yellowing acres of the wheat. 
Far is the neighbor upland ; far the glade 
That met the threshold under temperate suns, 
For now a winking haze about them runs 
Touching the sunlight to a radiant dance, 
Where mead and hilltop into distance fade 
And woods lie dubious in a sunny trance. 



29 ^^xit& anu i.anD0caoeflf 

No wind— but now a trouble in the leaves 
Spreading wood-odours like long-folded balm : 
Full of the tree-root loam, and barken eaves, 
And dusky berries by a bubbling dam ; 
Full of the scent of dews that drip and dry 
Amid the dank leaves of old seasons dead; 
Filled with the fragrance of some store of musk 
Or balsam sweet kept yearlong casketed ; 
Drowsing the sense asleep— till, mid-bough high. 
One robin warbles in the cedarn dusk. 

The walled waters parleying with the rocks, 
Sole throng awake while all the world is still, 
Whisper of ripple 'round the heated flocks, 
Or sunnier stretches toward the weathered mill ; 
Or patient cattle clustered in the sedge, 



il^rics? an!) ^antiscape^ 30 

Seeking the cool of checkered willow shade- 
Yet finding only heat, for noon has made 
The very sallows sultry with his sleep ; 
Has warmed the pebbles at the ripple-edge 
And brooded where the weedy shallows creep. 



BALLAD OF THE CHIMES 

NOW, in where the sunshine met the fog 
Was a land of mid-year green, 
For the corn sloped down by the clean white town, 
And the cliffs stood up between. 

And the country folk were abroad for church 
Where the lanes lay white in the sun ; 

But out in the bay, where the fog was gray, 
There was never a sound save one. 

And this was the roar of the windy sea 

As it leapt at the rock-built light, 
The headlong sweep of the rollers' leap 

Half-way of the granite height. 



il^ricef anu !lantis?cape0 32 

For the eddies set for the splintered shore, 
And the sea folk knew the sign, — 

Yet never a knell from the light-house bell. 
Nor a note but the heaving brine. 

And the landsmen crowd the seaward cliff, 
With brow-fixed hands in the sun ; 

And the women wait at the church-yard gate. 
And rumors gather and run. 

And, oh, what hap to the keeper hoar 
That his bell clangs never a note? 

And what shall be for the kin at sea. 
And what for the stranger boat? 

For landward sped a stranger bark, 
And never a guide had she, 



33 il^ricfif anij ILanD0cape0 

And her skipper cursed the cliff that erst 
Stood sullen on his lee. 

"And or ever I leave the coast of France," 
Quoth the skipper, grim and gray, 

"There shall be no truce but a shot let loose, 
And a sunken ship to pay. 

"For they keep no Christian signals set, 
As they keep in the land of home. 
Ere they sound a bell you may sink to hell 
In the grip of a rocky doom." 
* * * 

As a lie that 's hushed on a braggart's lip 
Came the pleasant sweep of a bell, 

Like a tender sound from the underground 
When the Spring hath spread her spell. 



Il^ric0 ann lLanD0cape0 34 

For a little white spire in the village trees 

Hath chimed a Sabbath tune ; 
And, Skipper, if ever ye prayed a prayer, 

Now thank ye Christ for the boon ! 

Ye have sailed the seas this forty year, 

Ye have dallied still with death,— 
But a ship's-length more and the dull gray roar 

Had stilled thy impious breath. 

There is grace and enough for the soul redeemed, 

And ease for the lucky knave, 
But what of the wight who has served aright,— 

Shall his guerdon be the grave? 

Oh the gripless hand of the bellman heaved 

In the surf of the beating bay; 
And the little white belfry clanged his knell,— 

But the skipper sailed away. 



COVETISE 

WHY should I ask a sweeter way 
Than lies before me day by day; 
Or envy him, who seems to tread 
With lighter heart from dawn to bed? 
The sullen cares that slink behind 
Pursue us both— but in his mind 
Is solace of a spirit free 
From question of felicity. 
He takes the day with happy heart; 
I covet now his fame, his art ; 
And, yearning after what is his, 
I lose my own full sum of bliss. 



REBUKE 



I BUILT my house before the hill 
Where his rose who had done me ill. 

'T was dear to scan him, night and day, 
Bent low along his icy way, 

Between the tall black trees that stood 
Stark, like his own ingratitude. 

'T was dear to mark how fortune mocked 
The child her lulling hand had rocked; 



37 il^rics? mt ilantis?cape0 

To see him totter, old and gray, 
Who was defiant yesterday. 

For hate had given into my hand 
Revenge. I loved his sterile land. 



Then, ere I guessed it, in the night 
A verdure dulled the deeps of white ; 

Grew, till the way he walked was hid 
Behind a sylvan pyramid: 

For April loosed a flight of leaves 
Between him and my spying eaves, 

And I— I bowed like a beaten god 
Below Olympia's mightier nod. 



III 

O hands that have a touch more thin 
Than any fairy fingers win ! 

O little leaves that blow and be 
For one year's day green company ! 

Is there in you that coax the sun 
To light voluptuous woman's fun 

A heart that yearns to a broken heart 
A blood that beats for friends apart? 



AT SUNSET 

DIVIDED in allegiance, on the height, 
Between the boundaries of the day and night, 
I wait for counsel, and with listening soul. 
Which is the spirit's dedicated goal? 
Still to move onward to the rolling west, 
Nor find surcease in any bowered rest? 
Or to be quiet, and to feel the tide 
Of cool oblivion round my feet divide. 
Sink into night and slumber, tho' the noise 
Of clamoring peoples shake the spirit's poise? 

Oh, sunset, beckoning to the busy deeps 
That lie beyond, where day forever keeps ; 



iL^xit& anU ilanJ)0cape0 40 

Oh, grateful night with balm to seal the eyes 
And lull the laborer into paradise ; 
Which? Shall ambition conquer or the soul? 
I stand divided; which shall make me whole? 



THE THREE KINGS 

GASPAR, Melchior, Balthazar 
(Three kings of Cologne) 
Travelled outward toward a star, 
Leaving each his throne. 

Down they gat them to their gates 

Toward the even hour, 
Bearing gems and chosen cates 

Herbs of fragrant flower; 

Straightway up the pastures rode 
Through the sleeping flocks, 

Passed the shepherd's hushed abode, 
Passed the well-side rocks ; 



tl^ricflf anu ilantjflfcape^ 42 

Tarried not at timbrel touch, 

Took no tented rest, 
Journeyed, though aweary much, 

Up the slumbering west. 

Then, when now a morrow met 

Overhead the night. 
There a steady star was set, 

Trembling in the light. 

Under lay a lordly town 

Silvered with the mom. 
Straight they entered and went down 

Where the child was born. 

Ho ! they knocked the palace gates, 
Ho ! they hailed the king: 



43 !L^ric0 anD ilanUs^capeflf 

"We are come with gold and cates, 
Let Hosannas sing ! 

"We are kings accounted wise, 

Journeyed over-sea; 
Bring us where the baby lies : 
Let us bend the knee!" 

But the yawning porter spake: 
"Hold, and go your way ! 
Inward lies the king awake 
Smitten of your fray !" 

Then the crafty king arose. 
Spake them fair and said: 
"Enter, eat, and take repose; 
Whither are ye led?" 



§L^ricfif anu flanu^capesf 44 

Then they pointed toward the star; 

Then they told the tale : 
How a music heard afar 

Woke the pasture vale ; 

How the winged ones came and stood 

Up the stony hill; 
How the light ran many a rood 

Thorough mead and rill. 

'Lead us to the babe, oh, king, 

Ope thy palace gates ; 
Lo, we bear him wreath and ring, 

Gold, and chosen cates!" 

Then the crafty king got down, 
Ope'd the portal wide; 



45 il^rics; anU ilanUfi^capesf 

"Here doth neither king nor clown 
Save myself abide." 

In they entered, keen of quest, 
Made the marbles ring; 

But they found nor babe, nor guest- 
None beside the king. 

Then bethought them of the star: 

Lo, it stood away 
Parted where the pastures are, 

Trembling through the day. 

Out they hurried, mounted, rode 

Madly to the hill. 
Where, above a low abode, 

Stood the beacon still: 



Went within, and knelt, and now 

Knew the little child; 
Gave their gold and bent the brow, 

Rested, reconciled. 

But the marvel was her face, 

Mary's, with the eyes 
Blue, like upper deeps of space 

Near to Paradise. 

Like a bough that bears a leaf ; 

Like a space of sky 
Where a star has issued ; grief 

Grown tranquillity— 

So was Mary, bended down 
To her little child 



47 il^rtcsi anl3 iLanDsfcapes? 

Black of hair, and travel-brown, 
Lowly, mother-mild. 

Her they heeded ; spake apart ; 

Hailed her queen ; but she 
Drew her infant to her heart — 

Timid, fearfully. 

Spake them fair: "O wizard kings 

Hearken, 't is but one- 
Mary, out of Nazareth brings 
Here her naked son !" 

Nay, they marvelled ; bent the knee 
Toward the resting star : 
"Guide us. White Benignity, 
Where these royal are !" 



Came a trouble in the air 

Like a rippled wave : 
Flights of open wings were there 

Sweeping low and grave; 

But the star was overhead 
Moveless, and they turned 

Toward the lowly oaten bed 
Where the radiance burned. 

'King he is, of thee begot, 
Queen, both fair and good!" 

Lo, they blessed, but knew it not, 
Mystery, motherhood! 

Beauty of her face, was it 
Made them worship her, 



49 C^ric0 anU tlants^capes^ 

As a tender glory lit 
In the evening air? 

Ah, the halo that herseemed 
Hovering ever through, 

This they marked, but little deemed 
'T was the mother's due. 

For within the heart of her 
Bears a youngling child, 

Secrecies and mercies stir, 
Fears are reconciled. 

And the wick of peace within 

Burns upon her face, 
Till the Seer is her kin ; 

Kings are of her race. 



So they worshipped ; broke the bands, 

Bore the treasures out; 
Scattered gold of glorious lands; 

Slew the dogging doubt. 

Then, when now the night anew 

Slumbered in the air, 
Down they gat them, ere the dew, 

Hailing all men fair: 

*'Lo, a King is born to one- 
Mary, where yon star 
Makes a cirque of light upon 
All that bended are. 

"Get ye in and bow the knee 
Unto Queen and King- 
Hence we bear to a far countree 
Tidings of this thing!" 



DUALITY 

A STAR hung like a dewdrop 
That greatens to a sphere, 
And if the wind but brush by 
'T will tremble in a tear. 

But the star was fed with inner 

Light that lit a world; 
And it hung among the tree-tops 

By the timid May uncurled. 

And medeemed the soul of Beauty 
Were the tree-tops and the star, 

For apart they were a wonder, 
But together Beauty are. 



FOREST FIRES IN JUNE 

THE dust of the trodden street 
The blaze of the brick-paved way, 
And the clock-work rattle and beat 
Of a city's day. 

Weary and gritty and grim, 

And the dear green miles without, 

And the sun in the zenith dim, 
And the heart in doubt. 

But, up from the wells of space, 
Through the rivers of air, a scent, 

A waft from the hills of grace 
With the factory's blent. 



53 ili?ric0 anij §Lantisfcape0 

Resinous, rich, remote, 

Like a memory never known ; 

Like a liquor rich in the throat ; 
Or a wood-pipe's tone. 

Odour that asks not speech 
To utter the joys of toil 

In the alleys of oak and beech, 
In the free, sweet soil. 

Oh, over the rooves of tin, 
That never have known a nest, 

There is smoke with the forest in 
From the blazing west. 

And what if the newsboy calls— 
"A thousand acres ablaze ! 



A forest fire that appalls!" 
These are Nature's ways ! 

It is meet that the soul of the wood 
Shall once to the city gain 

To heal with its pungent good 
The wreck of the brain : 

To loosen its essence there 

For the stitcher under the roof; 

For the bent back climbing the stair; 
For the heart's behoof. 

Oh, over the rooves of tin 
That never have known a nest, 

Let the forest freely in. 
Like a truth confessed. 



LOST 

YOU saw the headstone low and old — 
Slate, where the marble rose in ranks, 
And not the simplest flower told 
Of tears or thanks. 

Beneath the willow there within 
The green close by a highway set 

She lay unshriven of her sin 
That was love's debt. 

For carved in letters deeper than 

The evil in her maiden heart 
This record of her trespass ran 

In rudest art : 



n 



'Here lies a mother not a wife 

Her name, O Stranger, ponder well. 

The righteous gain eternal life, 
The sinner, hell." 

But Nature, that divines the right 
Had crept in moss to hide her shame. 

Nor left, for unforgiving sight, 
A letter of her name. 



THE IMMIGRANTS 

You knew the leaves were loose and brown 
Out where the sun sloped, leagues away; 
But here the city's roar rolled down— 
The walls were warm, 't was the waning day. 

He leaned and told her in her ear 

The curt, loud words of the brazen clerk— 
'No place for a man and wife by the year; 
There 's breaking stone, if you want to work." 

The ship had brought them. Hope blew free 
And filled their sails— in the steerage hold. 



il^ricfif ant) Mnt^scnpt^ 58 

They landed, light as a lover he, 
And she was glad, ere the hope fell cold. 

Homespun gray, with a yoeman's cap, 
And tuft on chin the painter loves— 

And she in a little faded wrap 

With a veil washed green and mended gloves. 

He carried— as if his wealth it were— 
A cage tucked round with bordering chintz: 

For, away from the well-loved land they bore 
The song that had swung in the window glints. 

And I knew that when the chill was deep 
And human help was a sullen Nay, 

k song would spring from the cage and keep 
The troth that was made over-seas away. 



59 tl^rits? ann Mnt>&tnptsi 

Heedless the city ; leagues beyond 
The leaves were eddying dull and dead. 

They passed— and his mild blue eyes were fond 
And her heart was full— was it hope or dread? 



SUDDEN SUN 

WHY did he hide his face 
Who lolled in the chariot seat, 
With the rattling chains of wealth 
And the pair with pawing feet? 

For the sun that was splashed with cloud 

Broke wildly through and sloped 

In a torrent of yellow light 

Where the riders huddled and groped. 

And the stone that was grim was gold, 
And the wintry willow laughed, 
And the road was of paven amber. 
And of wine the water quaffed. 



6 1 fifties anu llantisfcape^ 

For the bleak earth loved the sun— 
And it blessed even him and his gold. 
But he shuddered and shut it out. 
Was his heart so bitter cold? 



INCARNATION 

THE granite rose on either side 
In hills the toil of hands had made: 
The many-windowed gaols of trade 
Where eyes are dimmed, ideals fade, 
And youth forgets the earth is wide. 

With light to make a meadow glad 
The liberal morning sloped the street; 
But here the yellow sun was heat, 
Or harmed the wool or hurt the wheat 
Of trampling merchants, eagre-sad. 

Yet one,— below the least of these,— 
Of wrinkled cheek and rounded back, 



^3 Il^ric0 auD ilanti0cape0 

Looked cheerily on the sunlit track, 
The ruddy bricks, the shining stack, 
And found deh'ght in city trees ; 

Nor heeded how his burden weighed 
Because his eyes could see the sun ; 
Nor knew that, out of myriads— one, 
Beside him saw a shadow run 
That clasped the centuries in its shade. 

A tray of tools, a timbered frame 

That lay along the shoulder,— these 

Bent low his back and plodding knees 

From nature's nicer symmetries. 

And stirred the breath that went and came. 

But like a loving spirit, there, 
In even footfall at his side, 



Il^ricfi? an^ iiantiscape^ 64 

A shadow walked the pavement wide 
With bended head, and humble pride, 
And angled cross aslant the air. 

It was as if the dateless sun 
Forgot the years, the far abode— 
And lo ! upon the sordid road 
The cross-worn Nazarean trode, 
Holding the journey never done. 



REQUIEM 

THEY watched her eddying, like a leaf 
The tides among, 
Nor heeded where her robin hung — 
For, missing her, he had not sung. 
Save when she spoke once, low and brief. 

But, sudden, there amid the vines 
Her hands had wet, 
Between the curtains, hanging yet, 
She loved to draw when day was set, 

He warbled like a bird divine. 

Was it a dream of upland ways 
With open wing? 



il^ric^ anH i^anD0cape0 66 

Or was it pity made him sing 
For her whose spirit hovering, 
Brought peace within her holy face? 

None knew— but hark ! the captive brain 
Set free the heart ! 
He trilled the sombre night apart, 
And they that waited saw her start. 

And then she turned— and all was vain. 

No speech was uttered ; yet her eyes. 
Dim with the night, 
Turned upward toward the squares of white 
With tender, oh, with tender light, 

And blessed him out of Paradise. 



AN INLAND ECLOGUE 

WIDE were the elm-boughs bent over the roof, 
With lattices of shadow that fluttered to the 
breeze ; 
Brown with the dyes of weather and of years 
The checkered walls of freestone facing to the roads. 
Like a covert shady in an olden wood, 
Grateful with rest the porches ran about ; 
And there, by the pump, with hands upon his hips. 
Leaned the merry landlord, blinking at the sun. 
Years had not maimed him, age had only risen 
Like a whitened eddy breaking in his smiles. 



h^xit& anU !lantifl?cape0 68 

Red were his chaps and plump his fatted paunch, 
And like a winded racer he panted when he moved. 
'Ho, ho !" he laughed to Billy at the trough, 
'Lead her in and fill her, pad her out with oats. 
Little more 'n her ribs 'd make a handy rake. 
He 's nigh as lean a-drinkin' in the bar." 
Then, with a sound like echoes in a vault, 
Ebenezer laughed, and shuffled to the tap. 
There stood the rider, rusty, black, and tall 
As any single cedar on a lonely hill. 
Laugh would he not at even that one joke, 
Never failed of laughter, nay, this forty year. 
Asked for his room, and ordered dinner straight, 
And stalked away in silence, nor nodded even thanks. 

There, in the cool sweet quietude of summer, 
Summer made dim with lattices and leaves,— 



69 !l^ric0 anU ilauD^tapes: 

There, in his room that smelt of folded linen, 
Laved he his face and wet his fevered wrists ; 
Peered out the while between the bowed-in shutters, 
Far on the fields that sloped in green away . 
So to his eyes, that happiness made sadder, 
Came now a smile, as when the heart recalls. 
There lay the creek asleep in yonder meadow, 
There once he waded, angled, when a boy; 
There stood the nut-trees hoary on the hill 
That pelted down the shellbarks when the wind was 

high; 
There ran the lane, a rutted loop of brown, 
Leading by the green ways lower to the dell ; 
And, where the tufts of overhanging clover 
Nodded at the edge, a neighbor chimney rose. 
Ah, how his heart beat, how his bosom quivered, 
Touched by the hopeless memories of home ! 



Sweetheart and sister, mother, father, brother— 
Where, where were these that held him overdear? 
Where, too, the self of shining innocence, 
Builder of dreams and fellow of the fields, 
Self of the unlearned knowledge of the dawn 
Breaking into wisdom or dying into dust? 

Yea, where the self, loved closer than his kin. 
Fallen like a shadow shutting out the light? 
Self-love, self-will, and vanity of self 
Snapped all his ties and tossed him to the sea. 
Raged till he fell and lay a length of years. 
Doomed, in the homesick equatorial heat. 

For, when he kissed her, Lucy of the Elm, 
Kissed ere the troth had privileged his lips. 
She with a gentle joining of the hands 
Chided, and he in passion flung away. 



71 iL^nt0 anti i.antj0cape0 

Sullen he strode for two defiant days 
Out all the lanes that levelled to the Elm. 
But when her eyes turned wistfully astray 
Came from the city news that was despair : 
"Never," he wrote, "should any woman make 
Light of his loving, and he was for the sea." 
Yet, through the years and over all the leagues, 
Dark leagues of sea that laboured to the South, 
Through even that bleak solitude of self. 
There, like a tender spirit of his past, 
Stood in the Elm shades Lucy of the Elm, 
Joining her hands in daring gentleness. 

Hark, at the door— a knock— and hark, again! 
So, with the voice of one who stirs in sleep, 
"Come in," he called, and she was standing there. 
Sweet as of old, her face was like the hopes 



iL^ric0 ant) flanUs^capefi? 72 

Men far away keep kindled yet of home ; 
Crossed on her bosom the kerchief of her sect, 
But, like a halo, silver was her hair. 

Ah, but the thrill that nearly caught his heart, 
Swept out his hand as if to fondle hers. 
Gleamed in his eye one moment and was gone, 
Chilled and denied because she knew him not. 
'Friend, will thee dine?" She bowed in gentleness. 
Then led the way along the listening hall 
Summer-cool with oil-cloth, curtained in with chintz, 
Scented with the leaves that tapped the window-sill. 

Each savoury dish was like a whiff of home. 
Gathered at the threshold, tasting of the soil; 
Yet could he eat not, hungered tho' he was. 
Hungered and weary with the dusty miles; 
For, in his eyes that seeming little saw, 



73 !l^ricfi? ant) i.anU0cape0 

Levelled through the window down the lower lane, 
Inward and absent as of him who dreams, 
One only object centred and was real- 
Gentle Lucy's hair, that like an aureole 
Crowned and uplifted, severed her from him. 

Snapped was the self that bound him in its bonds. 
Freed and delivered, only now he knew 
How she had loved him, how she stood apart 
Sanctified by sadness, sainted by regret. 

Noiseless she trod, a presence like the soul 
Wherewith a house is hallowed to a home; 
Poured out the milk, and brought him fragrant corn, 
Beef from the pastures, lettuce, mellow beans, 
Apples and cakes ; yet looked not in his face 
Save as a stranger scans a silent guest, 
Pondering on his business, guessing at his name. 



IL^ricfif auD !LanU0cape0 74 

Then, when he threw the napkin on the cloth, 
Pushed back his chair, and bowed unspoken thanks, 
Oh, how his heart was breaking in his breast! 
Breaking to utter, "Lucy, I was wrong- 
Take what is left. I loved you, love you still ; 
Take what is left—" he durst not say the words. 
What could he give her precious as her grief? 
What but the self that wrought her silver hair? 
'This way!" she said. He touched the tap-room door, 
Turned, and was gone,— and Lucy knew him not. 

Then, when the inn-yard, dozing in the shade, 
Wakened to the tinkle of unwilling hoofs, 
Lucy, with the crumb-brush balanced in her hand. 
Peeped through the blinds and saw him out of sight. 
'Oh," said her heart, "that some one happy day- 
Some day of days forever to be blessed— 



75 Jl^rics? anu ilanU0capc0 

So should arrive from over sea and land 
One whom I love, but he comes not, comes not." 
Then, to her work. And like a homeless bird 
On, on he travelled farther from her heart. 



BEACH PEAS 

HERE, where the sand and the sea 
Caress, and forever embrace, 
You have bloomed, as a child that may be 
The fruit of their race. 

You were born to the drench of the salt 
To the murmur of waves in the night 

To the scream of the gulls through the vault 
And to foam that falls white. 

For, the purple you wear in your hood 
And the lace of your leaves, are a sign 



77 il^nc0 anti ilanU^capc^ 

You are sprung of imperial blood— 
Tho' of lowlier line. 

I took from you seven round seed 
To a land that is warm with the sun, 

Where the soil is of tenderest mede 
And of wind there is none. 

And I waited; and watered the earth— 
And I sheltered the seed from the north ; 

There was never a token of birth, 
Nor a blade to come forth. 

For you dream of the drench of the salt 
And the murmur of waves in the night, 

And of gulls that give joy and exult 
And of foam that falls white. 



And the dream was shut up in your seed 
As a hope in the heart of a man, 

And they longed by the salt to be freed — 
And they died of the ban. 



A WOOD TRYST 

rHE moon curled open like a flower. 
First to a hud of gold, 
Then, in a pale and radiant hour. 

With pauses manifold, 
Lay in the lucid heart of heaven 
Tremulous, wan, and cold. 

Deep in leaves a lady lay, 

White, her witched gown. 
Where the moon looked it was day 

Leafy alleys down— 
Yet her head was still alway 

Tho' its tress was blown. 



il^rics: anti !lanli0cape0 So 

Moon-leaves on her bodice fell, 

And upon each lid; 
All athwart her like a spell 

Shadows dipt and hid— 
And her hands lay pale and still 

Twisted grass amid. 

Moving in the mellow light 

Of the rounded moon 
Came a fairy ringlet white 

Tiptoed into tune- 
Came and circled left and right 

With a mythic rune. 

One in midst a maple bud 

Waved above her eyes : 
Lady, singing, cold the wood; 

Rise! Rise! Rise! 



8 1 il^ricsi anti Ilanti0cape0 

Twitch thy tunic, tie thy hood- 
Hark the owlet cries ! 

Thereto, like a weary guest, 
Came her lids apart, 

And a breathing of her breast 
Made her bodice start — 

All in crimson was she drest 
Close about her heart ! 

Yet anon she rose and took 
From a fairy's hand 

Flowers of a magic look. 
Like a lily-wand— 

Yet, in never a forest-nook 
Grown, nor any land. 

And with deft and dainty care, 
Thro' her bodice fold, 



tl^ricfif anJj i.ant)0capt0 82 

These she nestled 'twixt the bare 

Sweets of her bosom cold, 
Till the flowers, frozen there, 

Withered, and were old. 

Then with many a tempted start. 

Many a turn of eye. 
Many a fluttered hand at heart. 

Many a hurried sigh- 
Then, she threw her wings apart, 

Yielded with a cry. 

Like a spirit of the night 

Sprinkled with the moon, 
Underbough she took a flight 

Toward the witched tune, 
Through the leafage, fair and white, 

Slipped— and lay aswoon. 



83 i.^rifjsf anti tlanOs^cape^ 

Was she tranced, was she dead, 
Sick of honey-brew; 

Weary, laden, lanthorn-Ied, 
Toward the brink of blue? 

Hearken ! hath her spirit fled 
Sweeping down the dew? 

Nay, the dial of leaf and sun 

Counted Summer's tide, 
And the careful creepers run 

Tendrilled to her side- 
Yet her slumber was not done 
Tho' her eyes were wide. 

Autumn with a mother's care. 
Made a slip of leaves, 

Flung a faded mantle there 
From the ashen eaves, 



Covered heart, and coiled hair, 
Skirt, and silken sleeves. 

Winter with memorial snow 

Moulded her a hearse, 
Made his arctic organs blow 
Many a requiem verse- 
Held afar the hungry crow 
Cawing out a curse. 

And, when air-bells in the blue 
Woke the dreaming wood, 

Grasses like her image grew 
Woven on the sod, 

As if blade and sun and dew 
Wrought and understood. 

But above her broken heart, 
Like its living seed, 



85 il^ric0 anD llanU0cape0 

Freaked with many a dye and dart, 
Rose a wondrous weed, 

Like a flower of witches art 
Culled in magic mead. 

And the slanted even ray, 

And the dew of dawn 
And the madrigals of May 

Blown of fluting faun: 
All things that were sweet or gay 

Sped that flower on. 

Till, within its crimson core 

Lay a cloven heart 
Which the binding petals wore 

With a piteous art 
So to sweep the soul, or pour 

Bitter tears astart. 



il^rics? anu ilantisfcape0 86 

Hearken !— like an elfin song 

Eddying down the wood: 
'Follow, follow, late and long 

At the tryst she stood 
Follow!" dying, "ding— ding dong"— 

Slips the airy brood. 

And the leafage in alarm 

Whispered of a guest- 
Babbling echo blew a harm 

Into every nest- 
Hush! a faun— a fairy charm! 

Nay, a carven crest. 

One of Knighthood, yet with eye 

Like a gulf of grief, 
Weary of his panoply, 

Wan as winter leaf, 



87 ll^ricflf attD ilanUfi^tapesi 

Woe-begone, for aye to be 
Shorn of love-relief. 

Lo ! thy lady, Knight, is f air— 
Shapen of the green ; 

Buds and berries are her hair, 
Grasses are her mien, 

And her broken heart is bare 
In its petal screen ! 

Drain the scent and drink the dew 

Of her crimson weed- 
Is thy troth forever true? 
Take her for thy meed ! 
Hark! what elfin laughter blew— 
—Clasp her for thy need! 



SUNRISE IN SONG 



O 



SPARROW on the bending bough, 
The air is gray, the sky is dull ; 
What filled your little heart so full 
While mine was heavy now? 

I could not sing without the sun, 
The sun that is the harper's hand 
Across the chords of sky and land, 
Tuning them into one. 

But, tir-a-lee ! thy merry throat- 
It is as if the sun were back; 
For, parting wood-ways, winter-black, 
Thy melody doth float 



89 !l^ric0 anJ3 i.anU0cape0 

Into my chamber, thro' my heart; 
Over the mists that blur mine eyes, 
And, bless me ! how the sun doth rise 
Where, on the bough, thou art ! 



POET AND POTENTATE 

A POET at my portal? Ho! 
Summon our household, knight and knave. 
Let trumpets from the towers blow, 
Strew rushes, make the chamber brave. 

What say you, hath he garb of green 
Silken and ample, folding down 
Straightway from off a lordly mien; 
Are laurels woven for his crown ? 

Are gems set deep upon the hand 
That idles with the strings divine ; 
Do straining leopards lead his band. 
Are bearers bent with skins of wine? 



91 fifties anu ilann^capesi 

Go forth and greet him ! Ho, my staff, 
Mine ermines. Bid my queen attend ! 
A Poet? We shall love and laugh 
And lift the cup till lamplight end. 

Spread napery, trim the banquet wicks. 
Make ready fruits and cates of price, 
Let flow the vats, and straightway mix 
A costly vintage rich with spice. 

Lo, he has journeyed ; make him ease 
Of scented waters, linen sweet; 
Forget no maiden ministries; 
With unbound fillets dry his feet. 

Music ! Bring viols of tender tone. 
Low-breathing horns, the silvery harp. 



No clamor, no bassoon to moan, 

No hautboy shuddering high and sharp. 

He enters, say you? Truth, but where 
The Ethiops that should lift his train. 
The rhythmic dancers ankle-bare, 
The glow, the scent, the sapphic strain? 

Alone, in simple tunic gray ! 

No harp, nor any leaf of green — 

'T is but a whim, an antic play, 

A masque to mock us of our spleen. 

Bid him ascend beside us here. 
Greeting, Sir Poet, joy and health. 
But an you come to dwell a year 
This realm were barren of its wealth. 



93 iL^ric0 anu J.anD0cap^0 

Full many a moon we droop and die ; 
A very winter chills our wit ; 
Laughter we crave, the twinkling eye 
And fond romance in passion writ. 

God save us, thou hast come from far ! 
Ay, travelled many leagues, my Lord. 
And much have seen ? Ay, stream and star, 
And mid-wood green and shadowed sward. 

Then sit and tell us— eye and hand 
And voice a triple music— Yea, 
My steps have measured many a land 
Where beauty waits beside the way. 

But what of dogging ballads sung. 
And roses reddening every road, 



H^tita antj JlanU0cape0 94 

And wreaths from castle casements flung, 
And ribboned towns that flocked abroad? 

Nay, these I knew not, save you, Sire ; 
I kept the byways sweet and still, 
My feet were friendly with the mire, 
My house is but a roofless hill. 

My dance is when the tiptoe sun 
Makes merry through the oaken wood, 
My roses round the thatches run. 
The brier berries are my food; 

For music, just the nightingale — 
Nay, 't is a jest. Ho, summon up 
His people. Ere we hear the tale 
Let 's eat and empty out the cup ! 



95 JL^rtcfif anD §LanJ)0cape0 

Nay, Sire, my people are but such 
As fluted once on sylvan reeds: 
Seers who felt the finger-touch 
Of Pan and played of mythic deeds; 

Or such as walk the moving air 
With rumor of the might of old. 
Of wisdom that was once despair, 
Of love a thousand lutes foretold. 

Marry, his wit is passing rare — 
A merry fellow!— Nay, the quip 
Hath lost its savor. Sire, I fare 
Alone, what faithfuUer fellowship? 

For Nature loves no go-between 
To listen at her cloister-latch ; 



Alone I trode the listening green 
And slept below the forest thatch. 

Alone I won the silences, 
The summits of the sovereign mind, 
And backward, like ascending seas 
I saw the moving millions blind- 
Save you, Sir Bard, 't is song we crave, 
No sermon. Ere the banquet chill 
Get down and dine, defy the grave, 
Pour wine within, the flagon fill ! 

Ho, draw the silks, the tapers touch ; 
Poet, behold, the lackeys bow — 
Nay, Sire, I tarry overmuch, 
A simple crust were sweeter now. 



JUNE 

WHEN the bubble moon is young, 
Down the sources of the breeze, 
Like a yellow lantern hung 

In the tops of blackened trees, 
There is promise she will grow 
Into beauty unforetold. 
Into all unthought-of gold. 

Heigh ho ! 

When the Spring has dipped her foot, 

Like a bather, in the air, 
And the ripples warm the root 

Till the little flowers dare, 



iL^ric0 anu tlanD0cape0 98 

There is promise she will grow 
Sweeter than the Springs of old, 
Fairer than was ever told; 

Heigh ho ! 

But the moon of middle night 

Risen, is the rounded moon ; 
And the Spring of budding light 

Eddies into just a June. 
Ah, the promise— was it so? 
Nay, the gift was fairy gold; 
All the new is over-old. 

Heigh ho ! 



ALWAYS 



IS love, then, only liking 
That lasts while beauty is ; 
Or while the clock is striking 
Forgetful hours of bliss? 



Is love the cheek that wrinkles. 
The eye that saddens, oh— 

Is love the star that twinkles 
But with the dawn must go ? 
LtfC, 



III 

Ah, happy, who have found it 
In other measure made 

With tender ties around it 
And tranquil with the shade ; 

IV 

With hope and home and laughter 
And— whether beauty stay 

Or blacken with the rafter— 
A true love all the way. 



VESPERS 

TWILIGHT, with thy tender touch, 
Loose the yoke of day ; 
Free my shoulders, overmuch 
Worn in duty's way. 

Lay thy cool and quiet hand 
On my lifted face; 
Drop thy shadows down the land. 
Pacify my pace. 

Lift the drowsy tops .of trees 
Into amber skies ; 
Slip the tightened thong of ease; 
Cover curious eyes. 



Jl^ricflf anti iLanti0tape0 102 

Love, that life but little knows 
Save it spring in pain, 
In thy simple silence blows 
Young as Eve again. 

Liquid, lovely twilight let 
In my senses stay 
Quiet, for an amulet 
Through the driven day. 



PURSUIT 

TELL me, Catbird in the trees, 
Has a lady been this way, 
Wears a robe whose symmetries 

Pull and play 
With the clover at her knees- 
Say! Say! 

Has she set her tender feet 
On the springy floors of grass, 
Where the crickets murmur sweet 

Even-mass? 
Has she made them answer fleet 

Ere she pass? 



She is slender; she is light, 
Like the willow ere it leave ; 
Like the timid steps of night 

Out of eve ; 
She is clad in simple white, 

Slip and sleeve. 



WINTER TWILIGHT 

SHY as inner hues of shells 
' Tinted by the sea ; 
Lucid, like the lily-bell's 

White serenity: 
So the light of Even dwells 
Over me. 

Ruddier at horizon rim 

Where the ebon trees 
Stand imprinted leaf and limb 

Stolid in the breeze ; 
Crimson, where the waters dim 

Drip and freeze. 



Winter bends his icy head, 
Seated by the west ; 

Blows the ashen fagots red 
Ere he greet his guest, 

Night, that by a star is led 
Unto rest. 



CHATELAINE 

O SPRING with dangling girdle-keys 
Come in and free the Daffydilly, 
Undo the gyves from almond trees, 
The padlock from the lily. 

Loosen the birds from gaoler South, 
Undo the streams that lie in prison, 

And take the muzzle from the mouth 
Of violets newly risen. 

Exchange the hostage held of Snow, 

Release the Rose from diet frugal- 
Leap to the castle gate and blow 
The dragon-guarded bugle. 



MOON FOLK 

O SCIENCE, hadst thou but a heart, 
What deeper wisdom then were thine; 
For not as dead the moon would shine, 
But peopled by a race apart. 

For when we look with loving eyes, 

Rose in the South, and I at sea. 

And make the moon our trysting tree 
And meet embodied in that wise- 
Tell me, O Science, is the moon 

A blasted chaos void of man? 

Or are there some that leap the span 
And meet and make a lunar June? 



IMPROMPTU IN MAY 

THE wheels turn and the waves break, 
And the work of man runs on; 
But the Spring comes up the wood-alley 
And links her arm with Dawn. 

The mill-hand and the day-drudge, 

They do their dusty toil ; 
But the Spring, with flying ribbon runs. 

And the buds break thro' the soil. 



ALL ONE 

OH, the bud that comes out of the bark 
And the song that comes out of the lark 
And the star that comes out of the dark, 
Bring a lyric out of me, O ! 

For my heart, it is kin to the song; 
To the star, to the bird I belong- 
As the dust is the laboring throng. 

And the drop is the limitless sea, O ! 



VERSELETS 



HOW wonderful is the alchemy of the soil: 
For here 's a seed and there the crumbled clod, 
And each were barren to eternal toil 
Saving when mingled in the hand of God. 



The dusk that steals the world away 

Undoes a beacon star ; 
So, years, when you have touched me gray 

Will hope shine out afar? 



iL^rk0 ano ilanu^capesf 112 

III 

The East is touched with gold, 
From out a sunset rolled ; 

As if one ran with flame 
And here and there set fire 
To gable, arch, and spire 

In some light game. 

IV 

The verdure came and shadows spread to shade. 
The green bound all the gray old maple's head, 
But never till the night wind blew and made 
The leaves sing, did I dream the winter dead. 



REVELATION 

WHAT if a voice from a star should wake us in 
the night? 
Wisdom and awe were ours, and worship and affright ; 
Yet from the breaking sea, forever a message falls 
And we heed it not, nor know that the heart of 
Nature calls. 



ON AN ETRUSCAN VASE 

THE heart, the hope, the peopled town 
Lie buried deep in Time's decay— 
And yet the artist's soul comes down 

Embalmed in this new shape of clay. 



JOSEPH WHARTON 

MARCH 3, 1907, 81 YEARS OLD 

NOT years alone nor fortune make 
The gray beatitude of age ; 
Nor are the golden words he spake 
The glory of the Sage. 

Unless the heart enrich the man 
And love transfigure gifts and gold, 

The key is lost that keeps the plan 
And time but leaves him old. 

You, from your eighty years and one, 
Look down on acres stacked with grain ; 



1 1 5 il^ru0 anD Jlanti^cape^ 

On acts of wisdom gently done; 
On honour without stain ; 

And all the seasons yet to be 
Can never make your spirit old, 

For love has taught you liberty 
And truth has made you bold. 



DESTINY 

READ BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA SOCIETY, 
DELTA CHAPTER OF PENNSYLVANIA, JUNE 15, 1899. 

OUR many years are made of clay and cloud, 
And quick desire is but as morning dew; 
And love and life, that linger and are proud, 
Dissolve and are again the arching blue. 

For who shall answer what the ages ask? 

Or who undo a one-day-earlier bud? 
We are but atoms in the larger task 

Of law that seeks not to be understood. 

Shall we then gather to our meagre mien 
The purple of power, and sit above the seed 



1 1 7 IL^ric0 and tlanUfi^cape^ 

While still abroad the acres of the green 
Invisible feet leave imprint of their speed? 

We are but part ; the whole within the part 
Trembles, as heaven steadied in a stream. 

Not ours to question whence the leafage start 
Or doubt the prescience of a people's dream. 

For these are cradled in the dark of time, 
And move in larger order than we know; 

The isolate act interpreted a crime, 

In perfect circle, shows the Mind below. 

Forth from the hush of equatorial heat 

The wiser mother drove her sable kin- 
Was it that through our vitiated wheat 

A lustier grain should swell the life, grown thin? 



Was it that upward through a waste of blood 
The brutal tribe should struggle to a soul,— 

That white and black, in interchange of good. 
Might grope through ages to a loftier whole? 

Who knows, who knows? For while we mock with 
doubt 

The ceaseless loom thrids thro' its slow design ; 
The waning artifice is woven out. 

And simple manhood rears a nobler line. 

Then wherefore clamor to your idols thus 
For bands to hold the Nation from its growth. 

And wax in terror at the overplus 
Won from dishonor and imperial sloth ? 

Wherefore implore the Power that lifts our might 
To punish what His providence ordains ; 



119 il^rtcfif anti iLanUs^capesf 

To fix our star forever in its night ; 

To hold us fettered in our ancient chains? 

The Nation in God's garden swells to fruit, 
And He is glad, and blesses. Shall we then 

Shrink inward to the dulness of the root. 
And vanish from the onward march of men? 

Give up the lands we won in loyal war; 

Give up the gain and glory, rule, renown, 
The orient commerce of the open door, 

The conquest, and the wide imperial crown? 

Yea, were these all, 't were well to let them go ; 

For idle gold is but an empty gain : 
An empire, reared on ashes of its foe, 

Falls, as have fallen the island-walls of Spain. 



^^tic& anlj ILanDflfcapefii 120 

Treasure is dust. They need it not who build 
On better things. Our gain is in the loss : 

In love and tears, self victories fulfilled, 
In manhood bending to the bitter cross. 

In burdens that make wise the bearer, wounds 
Taken in hate that sanctify the heart, 

In sympathies and sorrows, and in sounds 
That up from all the open waters start; 

In brotherhood that binds the broken ties 
And clasps the whole world closer into peace; 

In East and West enwoven loverwise, 
Mated for happy arts and home's increase. 

What though the sere leaf circle to the ground — 
Its summer task is done, the bough is clean 



121 



il^rtcfi? mt} lanD^capes? 



For Spring's ascent; the lost is later found 
In some new recess of the risen green. 

We are but Nature's menials. 'T is her might 
Sets our strange feet on Australasian sands, 

Bids us to pluck the races from their night 
And build a State from out the brawling bands. 

Serene, she sweeps aside the more or less, 
The man or people, if her end be sure; 

Her brooding eyes, that ever bend to bless. 
Find guerdon for the dead that shall endure. 

Truth marches on, though crafty ignorance 
Heed not the footfall of the eternal tread. 

The land that shrinks from Nature's armed advance 
Shall lie dishonored with her wasted dead. 



fL^tita anil Jlanlis?cape0 



122 



Yea, it behooves us that the light be free. 

We are but bearers,— it is Nature's own,— 
Runners who speed the way of Destiny, 

Yielding the torch whose flame is forward blown. 

We are in His wide grasp who holds the law, 
Who heaves the tidal sea, and rounds the year; 

We may return not, though the weak withdraw; 
We must move onward to the last frontier. 



® XVI SONNETS ® 



THE GILDED GATE 

A THRUSH sang in the boughs above his gate 
With that old passion of the Phrygian glade; 
And, hushed in sacrificial awe, I stayed 
With Love beside me and arrested Fate. 
But why, oh Singer whom no eras sate, 
Warble thy service at this altar made 
For Mammon and the rituals of Trade 
And to a brazen Moloch dedicate? 

There is no soul within him, where thy song 
Falls, and has answer, and appears anew 
In lifting meditations that belong 
To worship and the tender twilight true. 
Man's, and not Nature's, are his moving laws, 
Nor ever bends he to a Primal Cause. 



BETWEEN TIDES 

OPULENT August, brown and beautiful ! 
See how she drowses in her yellowing wheat, 
Her swarthy oxen idle with the heat, 
Her hand sleep-fallen from the harvest-tool. 
Hark, for the tanned boys at the sultry pool 
Break through her dreams, and brazen locusts beat 
Their cymbals in the acres at her feet— 
Up the hot sky the mill-smoke ravels dull. 

Time halts. It is the mid-hour of the year. 
The heat irradiates as from reddened ore—. 
To-morrow will the East undo her door, 
And flocks of gray winds touch the clover sear. 
Which then is life; which death? The trance; the 

thrill? 
The throb of action, or the slumbering will? 



RENAISSANCE 

A TIMID Step upon the outer rim 
O' the world; and hush! a sweep of blowing 
hair; 
And down the spaces of the frozen air 
A hghtness, warmth, deliverance! 'T is the whim 
Of Spring to be upon us ere the snow 
Suspects her, ere the sodden, sleeping soil 
Has dreamed of rousing for the tiller's toil. 
Deep is earth's slumber and her senses slow. 

And in my heart, as if it too could stir 

To grass and feel the ichor of the air — 

The imprint of the timid Spring is there. 

The waft of odour and the sweep of her; 

And youth still beckons, tho' the boughs are bare; 

On altars dead lie embers new of myrrh. 



THE WIND'S DALLIANCE 

HOW joyous must the wind feel when it blows 
First through the soft resistance of the green, 
When May has hung, the naked boughs between, 
Her tender darlings all in dancing rows. 
The winter long it buffeted and froze 
And rocked in loveless anger through the treen. 
Seeking for comrade leafage, and the lean 
Limbs knew not how to find the wind repose. 

But here, the next day after May has reached 
Tiptoe, and garnished greenly each wide gap, 
The wind lies like a lover on his back 
Dallying— takes each leaf in his gentle lap 
With soft, long kisses, like to one beseeched 
By sea-girls from his onward ocean-track. 



MAY 

WHEN at each door of bark a tender tap 
Echoes, and all within 's agog for Spring; 
Then, ere the fledged leaves are yet awing, 
While down below the cisterns of sweet sap 
Stand ready tilted— from her wintry nap 
May wakens, all her tresses out of ring 
Her limbs acold with many a frosty sting ; 
And last year's blossoms withered in her lap. 

Few days, and hearken — like a wizard horn 
Blown in the deeps— Music! and lo, the blue 
Opens its hollow heights, and shows us thro' 
Into the sunny sources of the morn. 
Then, in a car wrought out of clouded dew, 
Young May across the eager green is borne. 



VESPERS 

THE midfield lies upon a lowland height 
Where timid evening tiptoes at the edge, 
And you may see her dark eyes through the hedge 
Of cedars that imprint the westward white. 
Cool green the wheat is in the quiet night, 
And dusk the deeper coolness of the sedge, 
Down where the field takes gentle dips to pledge 
The earliest cricket for his treble light. 

Then, here 's a little alley elbowed in 
Between the fields, a coppice that has run 
To be a road where lovers would begin 
Straightway caresses. To a tranquil one 
Who leans through open windows of the leaves 
There 's, either way, the gold of wheaten sheaves. 



EXILE 

THRICE have the seasons passed my country door, 
And still my face averted heeds them not. 
For once I knew each varied robe they wore 
And heard them call me from the haunted plot. 
We were as comrades are of common lot, 
And lay together on the threshing floor; 
We idled where the sun was harvest hot 
And watched the bluet break, the bee explore. 

Now, through the bars of duty, little light 
Strikes in, and that once refuge of the grass 
Here at my threshold wears an alien air. 
Though nearer, I am further from thy sight. 
Great Mother, than the multitude who pass 
The echoing pavement and the lamp-lit stair. 



THE RAIN-DROP PRELUDE 

NIGHT closes in— the vacant autumn night, 
The night once cloistered in her odorous green. 
The sere brown alleys under naked treen 
Dip into darkness ere a star is bright. 
And in my heart the ruined aisles unite, 
And in mine ears their music sobs between 
Forsaken cadences of what hath been 
And tender notes that trump the coming light. 

Ah, Chopin, with thy fingers on the keys 
The mystery is riven ; from the deep 
Rise up the voices of the dreaming world— 
Earth-murmurs, and the surges of the seas, 
And low adieus, and vain regrets that weep 
Immingled with the verdure cold and curled. 



COMPLINE 

4 s evening settles down along the land, 
/l And lamps blink and the wind is lulled asleep, 
Then through the spirit moves a knowledge deep 
The day denies us ; then a living hand 
Nestles from Nature into ours, as sand 
Slides in the glass: we dream, and half we leap 
The barriers that the dumb Recorders keep, 
A ray streams through, and half we understand. 

For twilight is the spirit's dwelling-place. 
Where mystery melts the slow-dissolving world 
And ghosts of order step from accident. 
Faith that still hovers where the dew is pearled 
Steals forth and beckons, and from banishment 
Our dearer selves we summon face to face. 



SINGING WOOD 

UPON HEARING A GIRL PLAY THE VIOLIN 

IF with a kinsman's finger you could fret 
The vital chord in any clod or stone, 
Would there not bubble to the air a tone 
Of that one central music hidden yet? 
Would there not sound, in ears that still forget, 
Notes of the dumb, pre-natal antiphone. 
Strains to unlock the sense from that long swoon 
Which holds us till we pay the bounden debt? 

So with this wood to-day you touched to song, 
In it there slumbered all a season's sweet: 
The moonlight and the morning and the wheat 
And crocuses and catbirds— one low, long 
Sweep of the bow and there a year you drew 
As lies a landscape in a drop of dew. 



THE SUBJECT RACE 

WHEN I behold the stars in steady march 
Down the long reaches of the open night 
And think upon the majesty and might 
That roll them through the illimitable arch- 
Then, on my mortal senses like a weight 
Of terror falls the littleness of man 
Swept like an atom thro* the pathless plan, 
A grain of dust blown by the winds of fate. 

And yet, how precious in his own conceit 
Is man, how vain of place, revengeful, proud, 
While the slow planets to their duties bowed 
Swing through the asther like a subject race, 
And all we know is but a sunset cloud 
Wearing the light of God upon its face. 



AFTER AN IDLE NIGHT OR TWO 

WHAT of the days that make no honey ; store 
No minted coinage in the hidden vaults 
Of Fame; th' unfruitful acreage, the faults 
Where run no ingots of the sinuous ore? 
What of the hours spent in inner war 
With work, when duty vacillates and halts? 
Are there in these no message which exalts, 
No harvest save the dreamer's idle lore? 

Life is a learning; and a lazy day 
Teaches the music which the toilers miss: 
Under the lamps or when the shadows lay 
Light coverlets across me, I may kiss 
Hems of the happy harpers, who will play 
Only for them who harry not their bliss. 



IF IT COULD BE 

ONCE, Shepherd, set at lip thy treble pipe, 
And, noon-long, in thy shadowed oaken lair, 
For ease, undo thy careless-curling hair 
Across thy cheek! Once, browned and overripe 
With sunny fluting in the nibbled meads, 
Make me Arcadian music, make me sheep 
Huddle the green, and when I rise from sleep, 
Make in my fluent fingers, treble reeds ! 

O sunburnt Shepherd! see, thy leaves are here, 

The self-same grass; and, once, this sun to-day 

Dappled of old the green Sicilian way 

With globes of light and shadow sphere in sphere; 

Ionian winds but wait, if thou wilt play, 

To bear us back to many a golden year ! 



SPAIN 

OF old she lashed her helm and led her host 
In glorious galleons to unsounded seas; 
And where her banner lengthened to the breeze 
The cross stood guardian over cliff and coast. 
War was the bauble of her haughty boast, 
The cutlass lay across her armored knees 
Forever. Yea, she built on tyrannies 
The sacred ramparts of the Holy Ghost. 

Sure was her doom ; and that dim land she won 

With lust and learning from its savage rite,— 

Taught by the radiance of a colder sun, 

Has crossed the sea, made tame by her old might, 

And yielded back as righteous benison 

The flame of freedom for her altar light. 



UPON READING AN APPRECIATION 
OF ALDRICH 

FROM the hard clamor of the brazen throat, 
Man's moving legions in the metal street,- 
How shall we find the tranquil old retreat 
With thatchen quiet and the robin's note? 
How shall we fly from millionaires that bloat 
The yellow acres into pits of wheat, 
Distilling commerce from the crocus sweet, 
Straining a profit from the Shepherd's oat? 

Ah, into thy cool close of verdurous verse, 
Aldrich, I turn and find a green recess 
Where the pure simples of Parnassus nurse 
Mine ear offended, and my heart's distress- 
Where rumble of the inevitable hearse 
Stirs not a leaf of life's seclusiveness. 



WALT WHITMAN 

HE was in love with truth and knew her near— 
Her comrade, not her suppliant on the knee: 
She gave him wild melodious words to be 
Made music that should haunt the atmosphere. 
She drew him to her bosom, daylong dear, 
And pointed to the stars and to the sea, 
And taught him miracles and mystery, 
And made him master of the rounded year. 

Yet one gift did she keep. He looked in vain. 
Brow-shaded, through the darkness of the mist. 
Marking a beauty like a wandering breath 
That beckoned, yet denied his soul a tryst: 
He sang a passion, yet he saw not plain, 
Till kind earth held him and he spake with death. 



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